


Feel For You

by Ceares



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Femslash, Nipple Torture, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceares/pseuds/Ceares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They definitely have unfinished business</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel For You

**Author's Note:**

> Obvs Jossed. Not Sorry

Samantha pulls against the plastic wrapped tightly around her wrists, fastening her to the desk chair. The sharp edges bite into her skin. If she had time, she could free herself but there is no time, not when her captor is kneeling down in front of her, pencil skirt pulled up over her knees as she squats and reaches back over Sam’s shoulder to the desk behind her. For a moment she’s close enough for Sam to attack. She could go for the jugular with her teeth, snap down on that pale skin until it breaks and bleeds for her. Then the moment is gone and she pulls back, a knowing smile on her face as she meets Sam’s eyes. 

The smile is bright, friendly, innocuous if you ignore the sharp teeth and sharp eyes. Sam doesn’t. She also doesn’t flinch at the pointed metal casually aimed her way. Long brown hair bounces like a shampoo commercial as the other woman’s head tilts one way then the other, eyes contemplative.

“Hmm, where to start?” She holds up the duct tape, eyes narrowing questioningly before shaking her head. “No, I don’t think we need this. I think you’re going to be very quiet for me aren’t you? 

Sam grits her teeth because she’s right. She won’t scream even if she should, will pick pride over rescue.

“These then.” The metal suddenly finds focus, sharp points sliding over her throat and down her chest to the edge of her shirt. 

Sam’s hands flex in the restraints as the scissors cut through the material of her blouse -- up,up,up till the sharp points rest under her chin, digging into the soft flesh just a little as her blouse falls open. Sam catches her breath at the sting. 

“This is very pretty.” Long fingers trace the lace along the edges of the material of her bra, skimming her skin lightly. “I hope you don’t like it too much.” 

The tip of the scissors are dragged back down her skin to the hollow between her breasts, where they part the bra with a quick snip. And actually, Sam really did like that bra. The temperature is low in the room and Sam’s nipples tighten into painful points as the cold air washes over them. 

That elicits a grin and there’s a soft thwap sound right before the sharp sting of fingers against her nipple. 

Sam bites her lip as heat follows the pain, pooling between her legs. She shifts minutely but it doesn’t matter. Her companion is focused, repeating the motion over and over again, nipple to nipple until the sting is continuous as is the pleasure. Sam swallows a moan and rocks a little into every thump. She almost breaks her silence when it stops abruptly, almost begs for more.

“Now what?” 

Sam stays silent. 

“No suggestions? I could use my mouth, that’s kind of traditional, right?” She leans forward, mouth open and captures a sensitive nub between strong white teeth. 

Sam tenses, her whole body taut as the nipple is pulled, stretched up and away from Sam’s breast. Waves of pain radiate from the abused flesh. She squeezes her thighs together, sticky wet, and feels herself start to tear up, nails digging into the chair arm but Sam still refuses to do more than moan when she lets go. 

Her breast is a steady throb of pain radiating from the nipple. She waits for what comes next, staring stoically ahead, eyes focused on the cheesy print on the wall. 

“I’m not though. You deserve a little more creativity, and the hotel was thoughtful enough to provide a few toys -- alright, ‘amenities’ but potato, potahto.”

She catches the shape of the iron in her peripheral along with other things laid out that she can’t quite make out and swallows anger and want. 

A thin, sharp line is dragged over delicate skin. It’s barely noticeable at first, even on her over-sensitive breast but by the fifteenth, twentieth, fiftieth time, Sam is gritting her teeth against the constant bite. Her breasts feel scratched raw. Her hips rock back and forth steadily, the pressure of the chair and the light friction of her panties rubbing against her full clit a tease of building pleasure and frustration. 

Sam pants through the stinging slaps that come in random patterns -- the scissors used for another purpose now -- hard and soft so that she can’t catch a rhythm, can’t focus on anything but the next smack, next wash of stimulation, the wall decoration a blur in front of her now. 

She’s close, so close when the warm metal of the iron glides over her breasts in a smoothing motion. Each pass brings more heat and Sam shivers under it. She bites her lip when it’s lifted, poised, knowing every second it’s getting hotter. 

The tip of the iron finally touches her skin, a thin, sharp trail of burning heat all the way down to her nipple and she clenches her thighs one last time and comes, riding through the pleasure silently. Sam tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling as she comes down from the rush. 

The scissors cut through the wrist restraints and get tossed carelessly on the desk behind the chair. Sam rubs her wrists through the tingle and then reaches into the pocket of the jacket hanging behind her, pulling out several folded bills. 

Amanda takes them with a smile. “Thanks, hon. It was pleasure. Zoe knows where to find me if you feel the urge again.” She slips on her coat and heads out of the room. 

Samantha waits until she’s sure Amanda is gone before she follows, heading out of the hotel. She’s half way down the block when her phone rings, and she sighs. She definitely shouldn’t have agreed to keep one in case of emergency. 

“What!” 

“I’m flattered.” 

The light, breezy voice is the last one she expects to hear. Sam freezes, eyes darting around her, but she doesn’t see anybody. 

“Don’t worry, I miss you too. I’ll see you soon and then you won’t have to look for a substitute.” 

It’s a threat, a promise and Sam can’t help the way her stomach flips in anticipation.


End file.
